One of Those Nights
by GolfingLioness
Summary: A H/L one-shot taking place shortly before the Battle of Yavin - Leia is troubled by nightmares of Alderaan, and is comforted by, to her, the unlikliest of people.


**Disclaimer: **None of the characters belong to me. But hey, who doesn't wish they owned Han Solo? ;)

**Author's Note:** A little Han & Leia moment that may have taken place between the landing on Yavin and the battle at the end of Episode IV. Hope you enjoy reading!

**One of Those Nights**

_A three-chord symphony crashes into space_  
_The moon is hanging upside down_  
_I don't know why it is I'm still on the case_  
_It's a ravenous town_  
_And you still refuse to be traced_  
_Seems to me such a waste_  
_And every victory has a taste that's bittersweet_  
_And it's your face I'm looking for on every street_  
_- Dire Straits, 'On Every Street'_

Leia Organa woke abruptly, sitting up in her bed as the thin sheets pooled around her waist. Tiny beads of cold sweat trickled down the middle of her forehead and slid across the bridge of her nose to land on her cheek. She touched one of them with the tips of her fingers, looking at her face in the mirror hanging on the white wall opposite the bed – she was wide awake, a pair of large brown eyes staring back at her from the polished reflection. Her hair tousled, her face drained of colour. The palm she had pressed to her cheek was trembling, and she was panting, sucking in the crisp, chilly air as if it could help calm her. Burdened by the images and voices from her dreams, she felt like crying out – perhaps only that could make the clot in her chest burst.

The droplets of sweat looked like tears on her white cheeks – having had a nightmare about Alderaan again, she was surprised that there were none. Digging her toes into the fluffy, navy blue carpet that lay beside the bed, she stood up and headed for the sink in the next room to get some water. She shivered when her bare feet met rough grey tiles, quickening her step to reach another carpet - the shivers spread across her body even when her feet were firmly planted into it, goosebumps covering her arms and legs; she couldn't tell whether it happened because she was really cold, or because the images from the nightmare were still there, hiding in the shadows and clawing at her heart.

Reaching for a tall glass, she opened the tap and let the cold water seep into it, now feeling a thirst stronger than the one she'd felt before – she drank one glass, and another. And one more. She let go of the glass only after that, breathing deeply as she felt the cold water trickle down her throat, quenching the scorching heat that burned inside her. She was about to head back to the bedroom, knowing that she wouldn't be able to sleep, when she noticed that the terrace door was wide open, white silk curtains flapping as soft breaths of moist breeze ran into them; one of the few things she liked about Yavin was that it never turned cold, not even at night – she left her terrace door open every evening, and often sat outside when the dreams tore her out of sleep, crashing out of her mind and filling the apartment with the images she could not bear to see.

Turning around, she headed for the terrace and passed through the arched doorway, pushing aside the soft, thin curtains. It was only when she stepped onto the narrow, stone-walled balcony outside that she realised she was still barefoot – but the chunks of stone the terrace was made of were never cold, having been heated by a strong, tropical sun all day long. Descending the few steps leading down from her balcony, she found herself standing in the grass beside a large stone rectangle, framed by tropical trees with twisted air-roots, blossoming bushes and clusters of glowvines – the latter, beside the flickering candles placed into small clay lanterns, were the only sources of light.

The terrace occupied the middle of the old temple complex the Alliance had decided to make their base – the two larger buildings positioned beside the shorter sides of the rectangle had been converted into hangars, briefing rooms and command rooms, while the smaller buildings that had probably housed the people who'd built the temple served as temporary homes for the generals, pilots, soldiers and other officers of the Alliance. All the windows were dark – except the one exactly opposite her; she could make out a dark, tall silhouette leaning against the stone wall of the narrow balcony, and she instantly realised who it was; no one else had that cockiness in the way they walked and even stood. Irritated, she sighed to herself – he would probably make fun of her now, like he always did. He would say something that would make her feel even worse, in that cocky, mercenary way of his ... without being fully aware of it, tears began streaming down her flushed cheeks as she sat in the darkness, looking away from the tall silhouette of Han Solo.

When she looked back, he wasn't there anymore – she could hear the familiar sound of his boots against the rough stone, and could smell a faint whiff of his cologne only a moment later. Before she could move away, he was sitting beside her, his face illuminated by the glowvines behind the bench, and the flickering light of a candle in one of the nearby lanterns – her face was probably similarly lit, too; he could probably see that she'd been crying. This time, he said nothing – the unexpected silence drew her eyes to his; what she saw reflected in them was clear concern and worry.

She spoke first, trying not to choke at her own tears. "Why are you awake this late?" She knew it was a silly question – but she was sure he had no nightmares; smugglers can't have them. He shrugged simply. "Chewie and I are leaving tomorrow ..." When he continued his sentence, his voice was soft and gentle, a far cry from his usual brash cockiness. "You're not the only one who can't sleep ... Leia."

When he spoke her name, Leia's head shot up and she looked at him, his features blurred by veils of tears. It was not often that he referred to her by her first name; usually he called her Your Worship, or some other similar name. And the way he spoke her name ... his voice was so tender, so ... caring. She had never even imagined that Han Solo could be caring. She had always thought he only saw himself, and maybe Chewbacca. Suddenly, she wanted to bare her soul to him, to tell him about the images that kept her from sleeping ... to tell him what she had been hiding so carefully from everyone else in the Alliance since the day Alderaan had been destroyed. "Did you have ... nightmares?"

"Not exactly," Han answered slowly, "Only ... certain thoughts. Had a difficult decision on my hands." Leia was certain he was referring to his decision to leave and pay off Jabba the Hutt instead of joining the Rebels in trying to destroy the Death Star; she couldn't say why this decision was upsetting her even more. Han did save her from the Death Star in the first place, but they had no good moments afterwards; why did she suddenly want him here? _It's just because he's a great pilot, _she told herself firmly, _We need good pilots to stand a chance against the Empire_.

She didn't pull away when she felt one of his hands across her shoulders, the fingers of the other touching her cheeks and wiping away the small tears. His fingers were rough, calloused from the blaster handle and the tools he'd repaired his ship with so many times, but they were soft at the same time – so gentle, so careful. "You had a nightmare?" His prompt was all it took – not being able to resist the sudden impulse, Leia tucked her head under his chin, choking out the words into his white shirt.

"I-it w-was Alder ... Alderaan – I saw them destroying it again, the e-en-t-tire p-planet. I saw m-my father, everyone I knew. And Vader, he ... was t-torturing me again, and all the pain I endured ... he did all those things to me, and I didn't tell him anything ... didn't help my people – he k-killed them all! It hurts, everything hurts – I see them all the time, I can't focus on my work in the Alliance because ... my father created the Alliance, I see him everywhere. And I'm alone. The scar hurts too, and it was all for nothing. I couldn't save them ..."

She was crying now, her words barely audible – but with every stuttered word, the clot in her chest was loosening and drifting away slowly, dissolving and taking away the weight that had kept her from sleeping. She could feel Han's arms around her back, cradling her softly, his lips whispering soothing words against her cold forehead. It was so comforting – she had never thought Han Solo would be the one to comfort her. Maybe Luke, or General Rieekan, or even Mon Mothma – but certainly not Han. "Leia ... show me the scar." Without thinking about why he wanted to see it, she lifted herself out of his embrace and rolled up the sleeve of her white nightgown, running her fingers across the edge of a jagged, wide scar that crossed the end of her shoulder and snaked towards her collarbone. Without speaking, Han bent down and placed her lips onto it gently, fighting the throbbing coldness with his warm touch.

It reminded Leia of what her father used to do whenever she bumped into something as a small child, or scraped her knees and elbows while playing in the gardens. The gesture always comforted her and eased the pain, even though she knew it was only emotional and actually did nothing for the wound. It was the same this time – she felt calm, at ease and safe. When Han looked up and asked, half whispering, "Better?" she could only reply, "Yes ... yes." Han smiled slightly at the surprise in her voice, getting up and offering her his hand. "It's time you got some sleep."

Not objecting, Leia got up and took his hand; slowly, they crossed the terrace and ascended the four steps leading up to Leia's balcony. Barely thinking, Leia was about to step inside when she noticed Han was standing still a few paces behind her; their hands, still linked by their intertwining fingers, were now fully extended in bridging the distance between them. Han appeared hesitant – and his words confirmed it. "I had better go now ..."

A tiny part of Leia's mind agreed with him – a day earlier, she wouldn't have even thought of inviting Han Solo inside her apartment; but tonight, everything was different. It appeared that he was the only one who could chase her inner darkness away. Tonight, he wasn't the cocky smugger she'd met on the Death Star – tonight, he'd become her friend. "No, Han, please ... will you stay?" She could tell that he had one of his remarks at the tip of his tongue – and was grateful to him for not saying it out loud. He only smiled, his reply simple. "If you want me to."

Walking through the dark apartment, she entered the bedroom and climbed into her bed, pulling the sheets up to her neck and looking up at Han as he pushed one of the armchairs across the room, positioning it by her bed. Suddenly, she felt egoistic – she'd invited Han to stay and would now go to sleep, leaving him to sit in the armchair? Guilt seeped out of her next question. "Will you be comfortable?"

Han waved his hand, reaching out with the other to touch her forehead and sweep stray strands of brown hair aside. "Don't worry about me, Princess. Have some sleep – I'll be here if you need me." At his words, Leia felt her eyelids become heavy and her head sank into the soft pillow, one of her hands reaching out to hold Han's. "Thank you, Han," she whispered, "Thank you so much." She fell asleep with a smile on her lips, her breathing deep and smooth.

Still holding her hand, Han stood up slowly and bent down, planting a soft kiss onto her pale forehead. In the morning, they would probably disagree over something again – but they would always have the night, the night their bond began to form. Only then, Han felt the true weight of his decision – he was going to leave the Alliance ... and the Princess. Despite the sudden revulsion, he saw no immediate way out – he would leave, and perhaps never return to the Alliance. Then, all that would remain between him and the Princess would be the night on the terrace.

"Anytime, Leia," he whispered to the peacefully sleeping princess as he settled back into the armchair, watching her face with tenderness in his eyes. "Anytime."

**Author's Note: **I couldn't help but include those Dire Straits lyrics - I chose them because I thought they describe how Leia felt after losing all her family well - I imagine that the three-cord symphony describes her longing for her family, and that the lines about the bittersweet victories are about her father not being there to see what the Alliance had already accomplished. So, she's looking for his face everywhere even though she isn't going to find him. Of course, I don't in any way claim that the lyrics are mine. ;)


End file.
